creatures that once were men-第45章
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a tramp; I shall always give him a rouble; and take him to the
beer…house; and treat him to some wine。 I shall tell him I was
a tramp myself once。 I shall tell my father all about you。 I
shall say: 'This manhe was like an elder brother to me。 He
lectured me; and beat me; the dog! He fed me; and now; I shall
say; you must feed him。' I shall tell him to feed you for a
whole year。 Do you hear that; Maxime?〃
I liked to hear him talk in this strain; at those times he
seemed so simple; so child…like。 His words were all the more
pleasant because I had not a single friend in all Tiflis。
Winter was approaching。 We had already been caught in a
snowstorm in the Goudaour hills。 I reckoned somewhat on
Shakro's promises。 We walked on rapidly till we reached
Mesket; the ancient capital of Iberia。 The next day we hoped
to be in Tiflis。
I caught sight of the capital of the Caucasus in the distance;
as it lay some five versts farther on; nestling between two
high hills。 The end of our journey was fast approaching! I
was rejoicing; but Shakro was indifferent。 With a vacant look
he fixed his eyes on the distance; and began spitting on one
side; while he kept rubbing his stomach with a grimace of pain。
The pain in his stomach was caused by his having eaten too
many raw carrots; which he had pulled up by the wayside。
227 MY FELLOW…TRAVELLER
〃Do you think I; a nobleman of Georgia; will show myself in
my native town; torn and dirty as I am now? No; indeed; that
I never could! We must wait outside till night。 Let us rest
here。〃
We twisted up a couple of cigarettes from our last bit of
tobacco; and; shivering with cold; we sat down under the walls
of a deserted building to have a smoke。 The piercing cold
wind seemed to cut through our bodies。 Shakro sat humming a
melancholy song; while I fell to picturing to myself a warm
room; and other advantages of a settled life over a wandering
existence。
〃Let us move on now!〃 said Shakro resolutely。
It had now become dark。 The lights were twinkling down below
in the town。 It was a pretty sight to watch them flashing one
after the other; out of the mist of the valley; where the town
lay hidden。
〃Look here; you give me your bashleek;* I want to cover my
face up with it。 My friends might recognize me。〃
I gave him my bashleek。 We were already in Olga Street; and
Shakro was whistling boldly。
〃Maxime; do you see that bridge over yonder? The train stops
there。 Go and wait for me there; please。 I want first to go
and ask a friend; who lives close by; about my father and
mother。〃
〃You won't be long; will you?〃
〃Only a minute。 Not more!〃
* A kind of hood worn by men to keep their ears warm。
228 MY FELLOW…TRAVELLER
He plunged rapidly down the nearest dark; narrow lane; and
disappeareddisappeared for ever。
I never met him againthe man who was my fellow…traveller
for nearly four long months; but I often think of him with
a good…humored feeling; and light…hearted laughter。
He taught me much that one does not find in the thick
volumes of wise philosophers; for the wisdom of life is
always deeper and wider than the wisdom of men。
229
ON A RAFT
Heavy clouds drift slowly across the sleepy river and hang
every moment lower and thicker。 In the distance their ragged
gray edges seem almost to touch the surface of the rapid and
muddy waters; swollen by the floods of spring; and there;
where they touch; an impenetrable wall rises to the skies;
barring the flow of the river and the passage of the raft。
The stream; swirling against this wallwashing vainly against
it with a wistful wailing swishseems to be thrown back on
itself; and then to hasten away on either side; where lies the
moist fog of a dark spring night。
The raft floats onward; and the distance opens out before it
into heavy cloudmassed space。 The banks of the rivers are
invisible; darkness covers them; and the lapping waves of a
spring flood seem to have washed them into space。
The river below has spread into a sea; while the heavens
above; swatched in cloud masses; hang heavy; humid; and
leaden。*
230 ON A RAFT
There is no atmosphere; no color in this gray blurred picture。
The raft glides down swiftly and noiselessly; while out of
the darkness appears; suddenly bearing down on it; a steamer;
pouring from its funnels a merry crowd of sparks; and churning
up the water with the paddles of its great revolving wheels。
The two red forward lights gleam every moment larger and
brighter; and the mast…head lantern sways slowly from side to
side; as if winking mysteriously at the night。 The distance
is filled with the noise of the troubled water; and the heavy
thud…thud of the engines。
〃Look ahead!〃 is heard from the raft。 The voice is that of a
deep…chested man。
* The river is the volga; and the passage of strings of rafts
down its stream in early spring is being described by the
author。 The allusion later on to the Brotherhood living in
the Caucasus; refers to the persecuted Doukhobori; who have
since been driven from their homes by the Russian authorities
and have taken refuge in Canada。
In order to enter into the sociology of this story of Gorkv's
it must be explained that among ancient Russian folk…customs;
as the young peasants were married at a very early age; the
father of the bridegroom considered he had rights over his
daughter…in…law。 In later times; this custom although
occasionally continued; was held in disrepute among the
peasantry; but that it has not entirely died out is proved
by the little drama sketched in by the hand of a genius in
〃On a Raft。〃
231 ON A RAFT
Two men are standing aft; grasping each a long pole; which
propel the raft and act as rudders; Mitia; the son of the
owner; a fair; weak; melancholy…looking lad of twenty…two;
and Sergei; a peasant; hired to help in the work on board the
raft; a bluff; healthy; red…bearded fellow; whose upper lip;
raised with a mocking sneer; discloses a mouth filled with
large; strong teeth。
〃Starboard!〃 A second cry vibrates through the darkness ahead
of the rafts。
〃What are you shouting for; we know our business !〃 Sergei
growls raspingly; pressing his expanded chest against the pole。
〃Ouch! Pull harder; Mitia!〃 Mitia pushes with his feet against
the damp planks that form the raft; and with his thin hands
draws toward him the heavy steering pole; coughing hoarsely the
while。
〃Harder; to starboard! You cursed loafers!〃 The master cries
again; anger and anxiety in his voice。
〃Shout away!〃 mutters Sergei。 〃Here's your miserable devil of
a son; who couldn't break a straw across his knee; and you put
him to steer a raft; and then you yell so that all the river
hears you。 You were mean enough not to take a second
steersman; so now you may tear your throat to pieces shouting!〃
These last words were growled out loud enough to be heard
forward; and as if Sergei wished they should be heard。
The steamer passed rapidly alongside the raft sweeping the
frothing water from under her paddle wheels。 The planks tossed
up and down in the wash; and the osier branches fastening them
together; groaned and scraped with a moist; plaintive sound。
The lit…up portholes of the steamer seem for a moment to rake
the raft and the river with fiery eyes; reflected in the
seething water; like luminous trembling spots。 Then all
disappears。
232 ON A RAFT
The wash of the steamer sweeps backward and forward; over the
raft; the planks dance up and down。 Mitia; swaying with the
movements of the water; clutches convulsively the steering
pole to save himself from falling